


Nothing but a home run

by malaguenas



Category: 19th Century CE RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Fluff, M/M, arguing boyfriends!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7570162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malaguenas/pseuds/malaguenas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry Clay has never felt so good about a game in his life, but of course, just his luck, none but John C. Calhoun is the trusty third baseman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing but a home run

It should have been a home run. 

Right from the moment Henry went up to bat he was sure it would be a good one. He felt it in his bones, in the spurt of adrenaline that washed over him. This would be a winner. And right from when that ball left the pitcher’s hand there was no doubt. Henry swung his bat, hitting the ball with a symphonious crack, and he ran. Passing first base was no chore, and second whirled by almost as quickly. He didn’t know where the ball had ended up, but he could see the same look on almost every fan’s face: that wided eyed, open mouthed look of anticipation could only mean one of two things. One, he would make it, even if it was by a hair. Or, two-- he could feel the ball and a gloved hand hit his back as he stepped onto third base-- he was completely fucked. 

He looked behind him to see John Calhoun, wearing what, from what Henry had seen, was an almost permanent scowl on his face. His brows were furrowed slightly as he stared back at Henry. 

Henry cleared his throat and forced a smile. “Good catch.” 

John didn’t say anything in response to that, but instead stepped away from the base and turned his back to Henry, giving a nod to his teammates who were grinning at him. 

Henry walked off at that, only to be greeted by reassuring pats on the back from his fellow team members. He sat down defeatedly next to Daniel Webster, who was on the bench. 

“That was quite the swing,” Daniel said, eyes focused on the field. 

Henry looked out there too, watching Thomas Morris get set to bat. He sighed. “And that was quite the catch.”

+

That was the first of many games between their two teams. They were the best in their region and, naturally, the best competition for each other for the time being. 

Through it all Henry found himself noticing Calhoun above all else. Despite practically living on third base, he was focused like a hawk, not letting a thing distract him. Henry didn’t notice it during that first encounter, but when a ball went anywhere near him, he would catch it somehow. To say that he was a good catch would be an awful understatement; it was that incredible. Literally the rest of the action on the field couldn’t tear his eyes away from John. 

Daniel looked at him. “Calhoun is really wicked good.” Henry jumped slightly and straightened at that. Daniel laughed. “Henry, you’re good.” 

Henry relaxed. They were on the 3rd inning, and he was on deck to bat. The time up to his moment ticked slowly--him and Daniel engaged in a bit of a small talk--and when he finally moved up to bat, he gave it his all, another golden swing. The ball rose into the deep blue sky and he sprinted from first, to second, and then, even before he was five feet in front of the base, Calhoun was there with one foot on the base, and the ball in his hand. There was no cocky smile on his face, just the regular stern face filled to the brim with determination. Henry sighed and walked towards his team. There went another golden swing. 

+

It wouldn’t have bothered Henry half as much if John got him out every so often. That would only be natural, but of the games that they had played since May, John had gotten him out exactly 13 times. Henry swore he wasn’t counting while he ranted about it to Daniel one day, but there was a point when it started to seem like some strange mixture of talent and personal vendetta. Game after game Henry would end up never making it back to home base, as if that were too much to ask. 

But that next game, that was something else. 

The score was tied, and Henry was the last batter of the game. He stepped up to the plate and looked over to third, where an overly focused and ready Calhoun was waiting for Henry to bat. Henry could feel the anger boil up in him just by looking at John, but he had to focus. This was all or nothing. The pitcher swung back his arm, Henry readied his bat, and then swung, hitting the ball a little too far to the left. 

“Shit,” He muttered under his breath as he began to run through the bases. Without a doubt that was right in Calhoun’s zone, and Henry would almost surely be met with John on third, one foot on the base and one baseball in his hand. Nonetheless, Henry kept running, past second and then upon reaching third, there was no one.

“What the--,” He passed it in a breeze and then reached home, his team erupting into cheers as the opposing team let out groans. He embraced some of his team members and looked back to see John looking at him, giving a slight nod before quickly turning his eyes away. 

 

Mostly everyone cleared out a little bit after that. Most of the boys were going out to celebrate with drinks, and Henry watched them all leave the field, telling him “good job” and offering to pay for drinks which Henry declined with a smile and a wave of his hand. 

The field was empty, but still illuminated by the stadium lights which never seemed to get turned off. Henry walked out onto the field, his head tilted up and looking at the stars. He closed his eyes, letting the silence of the night wash over him. Even in the peace of the night something still felt terribly off, and as wonderful as a win for his team felt, he still couldn’t bring himself to completely share that excitement. 

Henry turned around, keeping his eyes up, but when he eventually looked down, he found none other than John Calhoun, leaning against the fence. 

“I think your team already left,” Henry spoke from halfway across the field. 

John nodded. “I know.” And left it at that. Henry worked his way over there, leaning against the fence next to John and turned towards him. John didn’t look at him for awhile, he just stared forward, his strong silhouette flattered by the hundred kilowatt lighting. 

Henry broke the silence. “Why’d you let me win?”   
That caused John to look over, his brown eyes searching before he turned them towards the sky again. “I couldn’t stand that dumb look on your face.”

Henry almost bit out a laugh and mumbled, “Well I can’t stand that dumb look on yours.”

John looked at Henry and raised his eyebrows in confusion. “What?”

“You never smile! Never! Not even once after all these times that you have absolutely clobbered us have you even let the corners of your mouth perk up just a little! You’re always so stern and upset and that never seems to change.”

“Clobbered? We’re playing competitively. You have as much chance as we do.”

“Right. So that’s why you just happened to get me out all 13 times I made a  _ beautiful _ swing, and the one time I didn’t, you let me get away with it.”

John fell into silence at that, turning his face, once again towards the sky. Henry didn’t, couldn’t follow suit. He just stood there, fuming and staring John’s silhouette down.

“Okay what is it?” Henry practically threw his hands up in the air. “What is it that you hate about me?”

John stood there in silence for a bit more, turning again to watch Henry as he waited with pursed lips. “Well,” John sighed. “You’re too sure of yourself, you literally treat that field like you’re imagining that you can really make it to the major leagues and the worst part is there’s something--,” He broke off and continued quieter. “There’s something endearing about it.”

That practically knocked the wind out of Henry. Calhoun. The man who had continuously shown no kindness towards Henry until tonight, no smiles or kind words. The man who took him out of the game, swing after swing, until tonight. Henry was speechless, but he tried nonetheless. “You-- you can’t be serious right now.”

John sighed, pushing himself away from the fence and started to walk towards the exit. “Bye Henry.”

Henry ran towards him. “John, wait!” 

John stopped in his tracks, turning towards Henry with that ever present scowl on his face. “What?”

Henry thought for a moment, and just for a moment, all the anger slipped away, and he saw John on that field, stunning and talented. He took a breath. “You’re beautiful out there,” John’s eyes got wide and Henry clarified. “Literally when you play I can’t seem to watch much else. And god knows you’re some unhappy, stubborn, son of a bitch,” He paused. “You’re still something incredible though.”

He had barely finished and just like that John whisked over and kissed him, cupping Henry’s face within his hands. The kiss was soft and sweet, nothing like the argument that had come shortly before it, and just as soon as it started, John backed away, gauging Henry’s reaction, and only hoping he made the right choice. 

Henry could feel his heart fluttering and his lips tingling as he leaned in this time, bringing in John for another kiss. Something felt so right in it, something that matched the perfect of the night almost flawlessly.

+

It was the definition of a perfect summer day. Actually, it was a perfect baseball day. The skies were clear and the wind couldn’t be felt from the field. It was their last day of the summer season, and, whether it was because of the weather or the great season both teams had had, everyone was in great spirits. 

Daniel actually got the first home run of the day, bringing in the biggest cheers that they had heard all season. 

As the game wore on both teams gave it their all, and by the end, they were yet again at a tie. 

And, yet again, Henry was set up as the last batter. The coach gave him a smile and a pat on his way to the plate. “Saved the best for last!”

Henry stepped up, looking out into the audience, who were silent with anticipation. He looked to the pitcher who was waiting for a little nod from Henry, and then he looked to John, stuck on third base as usual, but his face was different this time. More relaxed to say the least, and that made Henry smile a little. He took a breath and gave the slightest nod as the pitcher threw the ball, and then he had it, the absolute perfect swing. The ball soared and soared into the blue and Henry ran as if his life depended on it. Men from the opposing team had their faces towards the sky as they still were waiting for it to come down, but Henry was already passing second base, and then he passed third, him and John exchanging small hints of a smile, and then, just like that, it was a home run. His team erupted in cheers at the same time as the audience, and even the opposing team started clapping, many of them wearing smiles. He went to each of them, letting them pull him into an embrace and say their congrats with grins that couldn’t seem to leave their faces. 

He smiled back at all of them, a warmth settling into his chest, and then he turned back to see John, a genuine smile on his face, and he smiled back bright and wide, because by god, he would swear he had never seen anything quite that beautiful in his life. 


End file.
